Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

It had never occurred to her that she might get past his wall of control. That she had the ability to stir him up was as shocking as it was…thrilling.

  “Kiss me, Gabriella,” he demanded.

  Overcome with the need to please him, she did. The kiss was hot, heady, spiced with brandy and desire. When his tongue stroked the seam of her mouth, she let him in eagerly, his masculine flavor saturating her senses.

  How delicious he was, this husband of hers.

  His mouth left hers to explore her cheeks and jaw. When he found the rim of her ear, she shivered, squirming as his tongue investigated the delicate shell. Her fingers dug into his muscular shoulders as he licked the sensitive lobe, then sucked upon it.

  “You’re like a sugar plum.” His words entered her ear, sending thrills straight to her woman’s place. “A sweet treat meant to be savored.”

  She moaned as his lips coursed down her throat. His stubble grazed her skin, making her feel hot and prickly everywhere. Heavens, she didn’t know how much more stimulation she could take. When he lightly bit the tender junction of her neck and shoulder, she jerked in surprise. Moisture gushed between her thighs.

  “Christ, your pussy is soaking through my trousers,” he said with guttural approval.

  Shock percolated through her. Her husband had never used such language in her presence before. And he’d certainly never been ungentlemanly enough to point out the dampness of that part of her anatomy. Embarrassment threatened to swamp her, and she made to pull away, but his hands clamped on her hips.

  “I bloody love how wet you get.”

  His voice rasped down her spine, setting her nerves afire. And that was before he pulled her sex snug against his bulging erection. Even through the cloth, she felt the turgid proof of his desire, his huge shaft pulsing against her moist cove.

  “Rub yourself against me.” His hands guided her hips in a gyrating motion that made her arch with pleasure. “That’s right, love, slide up and down against my cock. Rub your sweet pearl against my prick until you come.”

  Her head spun as her naughty vocabulary grew by leaps and bounds. A proper lady would have been offended…but she was aroused. Shockingly so. The fires of passion incinerated her capacity for thought: she was all sensation as she rubbed her pussy against the thick ridge of her husband’s cock. She slid up and down, angling her hips so that the exquisite friction stimulated that sensitive peak…her pearl, now that she had a word for it.

  The ascent to bliss made her pant. Then her husband’s lips closed around her nipple, and the fierce suction sent her soaring. She climaxed with a cry, floating on the winds of rapture.

  Then the world spun; suddenly she was on her hands and knees on the sofa, and the first hot swipe of his tongue against her convulsing flesh made her gasp.

  “Adam.” She twisted her head back in shock. He was upon bended knee on the carpet, his hands holding her thighs apart, his ravenous eyes upon her quivering sex. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I’m eating your cunny, licking up all this sweet cream,” he said in dark, hungry tones. “Then I’m going to fuck you hard and fast until we come together.”

  Before she could formulate a response, his mouth was once again upon her sex. Her eyes widened then shut tightly as the foreign sensations poured through her. He’d never done this before. And she’d never imagined that a man could…that a man would want to…and in this lewd position…

  Soon her senses became too overwhelmed. Her upper body collapsed onto the sofa, but Adam’s hands kept her bottom held indecently high. Her cheek and palms resting against the leather cushion, she surrendered to the swirling possession of his kiss. Everything became a dream: a wanton twilight moment where there were no fears or consequences.

  Adam’s tongue plundered her from behind, licking and lashing her drenched pussy, his night beard abrading her trembling thighs. His grunts conveyed his enjoyment of what he was doing, his fingers working her pearl to a feverish pitch. He left no part of her unexplored, not even the tight, secret pucker she knew only for another purpose, and she sobbed with the ecstasy of her own surrender.

  When he took her at last, his cock filled her so completely that it pushed the air from her lungs. She came, or perhaps she simply continued coming for the waves that rocked her were unending. Bliss inundated her, more and more bliss pouring through her as her husband took her in a primal frenzy. His hard hips slammed against her bottom, growls rising from his throat as he drove his big shaft into her.

  Again and again. Harder and harder still.

  And she begged for more even as she came and came and came.

  Finally, he stopped, embedded in her, his heavy stones grinding against her swollen folds.

  “You’re mine. You belong to me,” he growled. “Say it.”

  “I…belong to you,” she moaned.

  “Then take me. All of me.”

  He pounded into her, his thickness straining the limits of her passage. He groaned, his fingers biting into her hips as his liquid heat jetted inside her, over and again. Inundating her with pleasure.

  It was too much, not enough.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Then she swooned.

  The next evening, the knock on her bedchamber door set off a mix of emotions in Gabby.

  Fear, heartbreak…anger.

  All day she’d been waiting to see her husband. Last night, when she’d recovered from her swoon, Adam had been passed out beside her on the sofa. Shaken by their animalistic coupling, she’d fled to her own bedchamber.

  She’d needed time to think. To gather the courage to face her husband.

  He’d been drunk: what was her excuse for behaving like the veriest wanton?

  Surely no proper lady would have allowed her husband to take such liberties in the study. Nor would they encourage him to do the things that Adam had done…with his mouth…down there…

  Heat scalded her cheeks. In all their years of marriage, he’d never done that. He was a proper gentleman; what had triggered him to act in so depraved a manner? Would he regret it in the morning? Sweet heavens, would he blame her for encouraging it?

  Fretful, ashamed, and indecently aroused, she’d hidden in her bedchamber until she heard him leave for his offices. Finally, her growling belly had prompted her to ring for breakfast; debauchery apparently worked up one’s appetite. Nell had delivered the tray, along with the morning paper. As Gabby scanned the front page, the buttered toast had suddenly turned to sawdust in her mouth.

  FIRE DESTROYS HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE.

  The article had reported the gory details of a fiery explosion that had incinerated The Gilded Pearl, a brothel in Covent Garden, and claimed the lives of several dozen victims.

  Someone important died. In a workplace fire.

  Adam’s admission had echoed in her head. The coincidence was too great to be ignored. Had the person whom he had lost—and gotten drunk over—been…a whore?

  All day Gabby had struggled with that abominable possibility. Even last night, her intuition had told her that something was wrong, that she ought to find out more about who had died, about why Adam was acting so strangely. Now Adam was here, and she had no choice but to confront him with her new suspicions.

  You cannot sweep this into the Bin of Blissful Ignorance. Wide, dilated eyes stared back from the looking glass of her dressing table. You must find out the truth.

  Inhaling, she rose and called, “Come in.”

  Adam entered. He was his usual elegant self, his lean muscularity accentuated by his formal evening wear. A diamond stick pin glittered in the snowy folds of his cravat as he approached her.

  “I came to bid you good night before heading to bed,” he said.

  When he leaned in to kiss her cheek, she evaded him.

  His head lifted, tilting slightly. “Is something the matter?”

  Although his tone was neutral, she saw the wary glint in his eyes…as if he were bracing for trouble. Why would he feel that way, unless he was
guilty of something?

  The knots in her tightened. As calmly as she could, she lifted the newspaper from her vanity and handed it to him. Brows drawn, he took it. The moment he scanned the front page, she saw the flare of recognition, lines deepening around his mouth.

  “There was a fire yesterday.” She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. “A brothel called The Gilded Pearl burned down, killing dozens. But you already knew that…didn’t you?”

  He tossed the paper onto a nearby table. “What, precisely, are you implying?”

  “Did you visit that place?” she burst out. “That woman who died—whom you got drunk as a wheelbarrow over—was she some prostitute you bedded?”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said.

  His clipped tone fueled her anger and fear. As did the fact that he didn’t deny that the person who died had been female.

  “While I may admit to occasional bouts of silliness,” she said, “I am not stupid. You tell me someone important to you dies in a workplace fire. The very next day, I learn that a dashed brothel has burned down. Answer my question, Adam: are you mourning a lightskirt?”

  “I’m going to say this once. I have never been unfaithful to you, nor will I disrespect our marriage vows. Ever,” he said evenly.

  Chest heaving, she stared at him. Oh, how she longed to believe that he held their vows as sacred as she did. With a sharp pang, she realized that the root of her insecurity came from the fact that she loved her husband with every fiber of her being…a feeling that was not returned.

  He told you from the start that he didn’t believe in love. You have no right to ask it of him now. Be content with his affection—with the safety and protection he’s given you.

  “I have your word?” she asked, faltering.

  He held her gaze, his expression stony. “Upon my honor as a gentleman.”

  She knew his honor meant everything to him. Even when people disparaged her husband because of his profession, no one ever doubted that he was a man of his word.

  Relief trickled through her. An awkward silence followed during which she underwent a fraught debate in her head. Should she beleaguer him about the identity of the mysterious woman…or should she try to heal the breach caused by her unwarranted suspicions?

  As she struggled to decide, Adam spoke first.

  “Last night,” he said. “Did anything happen?”

  Fire crept up her face. “What, um, are you referring to?”

  “You were right in saying that I overindulged. It is not my habit, as you know.” He cleared his throat, looking as discomfited as she’d ever seen him. “I woke up in the study with a blasted megrim and no recollection of last night…except that you were possibly there with me. At some point. Am I mistaken?”

  Sweet heavens…he doesn’t remember what happened.

  Dumbly, she stared at him. In his tense features, she saw no sign that he recalled what he’d done with her. What she’d done with him.

  “I was there,” she croaked.

  “Did I do or say anything to offend?”

  Other than fucking me? With your cock…and your tongue? Whilst I came and came like a harlot and begged you for more?

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  “I’m glad for it. If I did say anything—do anything—to distress you, you would let me know?”

  Distress hadn’t been the emotion she’d felt: that was the crux of the problem. Adam had married her because he wanted a proper wife, one who was virtuous and good. She couldn’t stand for him to discover that, in addition to her other faults, she was a trollop. Panic twisted her insides as she imagined his disapproval.

  He never has to know. Don’t ruin your marriage over this. Hide, hide, hide.

  “Gabriella?” Adam was scrutinizing her, his jaw taut.

  “Yes,” she mumbled. “I would let you know.”

  Lines eased from his brow. He cleared his throat again. “Nasty stuff, brandy. I shan’t overdo it again. Now I’m off to bed. Early meeting on the morrow. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”

  He leaned to kiss her on the cheek, and this time she didn’t pull away. His spicy maleness filled her senses, and for one charged moment, her inner barriers seemed to collapse. She had the urge to do something utterly mad: to throw herself at him, be a slave to his every wicked desire…

  Her hands clenched at her sides as he gave her a husbandly peck. Tucking a stray tress behind her ear, he smiled faintly before exiting to the adjoining chamber.

  Her heart beating like a wild trapped thing, she watched the door close between them.

  16

  Present Day

  Adam felt the scrape of honed steel against his throat.

  Since it had been preceded by a steamy warm towel wrapped around his face and the application of rich and luxuriously scented shaving soap with a soft brush, he relaxed in the chair. His eyes closed as Quinn, his personal valet, began removing his night beard with deft strokes.

  I could get used to this.

  It was three weeks after he’d awakened with amnesia. Physically, he was healed, the knitted flesh giving him hardly any trouble at all. It joined the faded collection of scars he’d found on himself, badges of honor worn by any man who’d apparently come from where he had. He still didn’t remember his old life, but he’d reached an undeniable conclusion: there was nowhere else he’d rather be than where he was now.

  He lived a gentleman’s life, one of casual and undeniable extravagance. Not only were his personal needs catered to by professionals—Quinn being one amongst his army of servants—but he lived in a house with twenty-eight rooms…and this was no exaggeration. As soon as he’d started walking on his own, he’d wandered through and counted.

  He’d taken an inventory of the household goods too. The silver plate alone could probably buy a small kingdom, and he’d made sure to tell Burke, the dried-up old stick of a butler, to do a regular accounting. Although Burke had responded as all the staff had to Adam’s requests, with a deferential “Yes, sir,” the ancient retainer hadn’t liked being lectured on his responsibilities.

  Too bloody bad. Adam might have lost his memory, but he wasn’t going to have more stolen from him. As far as he could tell, he lived like a king, and he was going to keep it that way.

  Land on his feet. Assess the danger. Claim his territory.

  Now that Adam was well on the mend, he had three priorities. The first was getting back to work. Dr. Abernathy had advised Adam not to return to the office for another week. Since the doctor had helped to save his life and to avoid another gently scolding lecture from his wife, Adam had agreed…but that didn’t mean he hadn’t started getting the lay of the land.

  Henry Cornish, his man-of-business, would be coming in a couple of days with a full summary of Adam’s holdings. He wanted to know, down to the penny, the extent and nature of his fortune. Wickham Murray, his right-hand man, had made weekly visits during his recuperation, and Adam had taken those opportunities to grill the other about the moneylending business.

  To Adam’s amusement, Murray had become as tight-lipped as a clam whenever Gabriella came in to check on things; clearly, Murray had also been treated to one of her lectures on Adam’s need for rest. Adam would have smiled but didn’t want to risk getting nicked by Quinn’s sweeping razor.

  When it came to protecting those she cared about, his soft kitten of a wife had claws.

  Not being a fool, Adam was well aware that his greatest fortune wasn’t his earthly goods: he’d been given the gift of a family. Something that, from what little he knew of the past, he hadn’t had before. Something that he knew he wanted now. Once he got over the shock of learning that he was a father, he’d made it a priority to get to know his children. He’d found it no chore for his daughter and son were charming tots.

  Fiona was a headstrong chit who did indeed tickle the ivories like a maestro (she’d insisted on playing the piano for him the very minute he’d made it down the stairs). Indeed, she seemed to excel at everythi
ng she did, from dancing to singing to playwriting. Adam couldn’t deny that he liked her ambitious spirit…even if, at times, he needed to curb it. It was oddly gratifying to see a part of himself in his daughter, who also had the blessing of her mama’s beauty.

  Max, on the other hand, looked like Adam, but had his mama’s good-hearted nature. He was always thinking of others, trying his best, yet he lacked self-confidence. The lad needed less coddling and more toughening up. Adam planned to coach the boy in some manly sports. Boxing would be a good start.

  Adam was discovering that his body remembered things that his mind did not. Take sparring, for instance. He’d tried a few moves. The jab, hook, uppercut…his muscles coordinated with practiced ease. He was confident he could give a good accounting of himself in a fight. Those faded scars on his manicured hands hadn’t come from shuffling papers around on a desk.

  His body recognized more than fighting moves. When he was around Gabriella, his entire being reacted with instantaneous hunger: to her scent, the inviting curve of her neck, the unique, bubbly cadence of her speech. While he had no conscious memory of making love to her, his body could feel hers: her soft, firm tits overflowing his palms, the sweetness of her lips against his…her hot, wet pussy gripping his cock.

  Now that his wound was healed, his body had started clamoring for other things. Which led him to his most important goal: getting his marriage back on course. And by on course, he meant getting his wife into bed.

  Every time he looked at Gabriella, he felt a surge of lust and possessiveness he couldn’t deny. And why should he? He had a wife who was beautiful, tender, and loyal. She attended to him with a devotion that he knew in his gut he’d never experienced growing up as a guttersnipe. And she’d given him a pair of fine children to boot.

  And yet…there was a distance between them. An invisible wall. Despite her attentiveness and wifely care, Gabriella shied away from the physical aspect of their marriage.

  He didn’t know what to make of it.

  He’d tried to bridge the gap between them. To communicate his interest in resuming bedroom activities with her. He’d given her compliments, letting her know how attractive he found her, thinking she would take the hint.